


and I'm so ready to wake up now

by rathskeller



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Child Abuse, Depression, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Inspired by War and Peace, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Victor Nikiforov, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Russian Literature References, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Therapy, Viktor's been through a lot, but he's healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathskeller/pseuds/rathskeller
Summary: At the age of sixteen, Viktor Nikiforov was considered at the top of the skating world and also fell into severe depression. It's only eleven years later, when a starry eyed boy begs to be his coach, that he begins to take his life back.(A retelling of Yuri on Ice from Viktor's point of view mixed with the events that made Viktor Nikiforov who he is.)





	and I'm so ready to wake up now

Viktor's earliest memory is on the ice. He was tiny, either three or four, and the outdoor rink had seemed endlessly massive. He remembers shaking in his rented skates, both from the cold and from the fear that somehow the ice would crack, and he would fall through. He remembers tightly squeezing his mother's hand through their gloves as they entered the rink. He stumbled at first, surprised by just how slick the ice was under his feet before naturally realizing how to adapt his stance to maintain balance, and before he knew it, his hand slipped out of his mother's, and he was sliding along the ice by himself, skating like he was born to do it. He remembers exclaiming to his mother that he felt like he was flying, and she cried back, with tears of joy and pride gleaming in her eyes, "You are, my Vitya!"

His father later claims that this is a false memory, and Viktor only showed interest in skating after watching a televised competition, as his mother never mentioned his supposed natural brilliance to him. Viktor doesn't argue. 

 

-

 

When it's officially announced that Viktor has won Skate USA and will compete in the Grand Prix Final to attempt to his fifth consecutive win, the cameras show Viktor emitting a gasp of surprise before giving a brilliant, winning smile, both excited and humbled. 

What the cameras didn't show was that when they panned away, he immediately dropped the smile and simply looked exhausted, and just for the briefest of moments, Viktor looked like the the depression that had haunted his life for the last eleven years. But no one wants to hear about how you don't find enjoyment in the things that you know you like and how most days you wish you'd never left your bed when you're on top of the world, so he smiles again.

The official afterparty he spends dodging questions about whether he expects to win for the fifth time in the row at the GPF and what his plans are after this year. He's never really been sure of the right answer about his expectations of winning, struggling to balance an aura of confidence and humility, so he just shrugs those off. He also explains that he can hardly think about his plans for next year when this year isn't even over, which is a blatant lie, since he spends hours every night thinking about what the hell he's going to do next year.

The unofficial after-party is composed of some of the skaters and their friends going out on the town late that night. Chicago was a fairly populous city, and they doubted they would have too much media attention following them into a tightly packed club.

Viktor sat at the bar, watching the rest of them dance to the pounding house music, steadily making his way through a screwdriver cocktail. No one needed to know that he had also done four straight shots of vodka before that. He could tell himself that he was just rewarding himself after winning the gold today, but he knew that wasn't it at all.

"Hey," Christophe says, cheeks flushed and glistening with sweat from dancing, as he sits down on the stool next to him, ordering himself a cosmopolitan. "Thanks for coming."

He was referring to the fact that Viktor had shown no interest in attending this outing earlier, claiming to be tired from all the interviews, but Christophe, who had come in second place today and qualified to move on, had wheedled him into it. "Of course," Viktor says, swirling his drink a little bit.

Chris glances around the club before leaning into him and whispering, "You thinking of taking anyone home?"

It's no secret that Viktor has a bit of reputation. He's known as an international bachelor, famous for his numerous flings. He guesses his appearance probably adds to that. And yes, he has had many brief affairs here and there, never sticking around with anyone, but people assume that means he's playboy who doesn't want to be tied down, isn't looking for a relationship, and, well, that just isn't true at all.

He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. They don't speak for a moment before Christophe suddenly pipes up, "I think that one would be interested, if you want." Viktor follows his friend's gaze to see a young man quiet in a group of chatting friends, eyes fixed on Viktor. He grins abashedly when he notices he's been caught staring and gives a slight wave. Congrats, he mouths, and Viktor appreciates his discretion, so used to being recognized and promptly mobbed. The man's fairly attractive, with a fit body and a wavy brown undercut. Before he can think too much about it, Viktor turns on his eros and crooks a finger to signal the man to approach.

"Hi," the man introduces himself, hazel eyes crinkling in a smile. "I'm Salinger." Christophe immediately shoots him a look that says something along the lines of you're lucky he's hot oh my god how are American hipsters even real, which Viktor ignores.

"That's a beautiful name," Viktor says coyly, leaning forward in his seat and exuding as much sex appeal as he knows how. Chris comprehends that he's been give his cue to leave, so he gives Viktor a quick slap on the butt and wishes him luck before heading to most likely try to one-up the professional pole dancers.

"Thanks," Salinger (Sal for short maybe, hopefully?) blushes, taking Christophe's vacated seat. "I should be the one complimenting you though, dude. I don't know much about ice skating, but your performance was amazing." And while Viktor's ego does love a good compliment, he is so ridiculously tired of talking about himself and his skating, so he flips the conversation around, asking Salinger about his own hobbies. 

After desperately trying to pay attention and follow Salinger's ten minute monologue about the exact step-by-step process of restoring vintage wood for local bars and restaurants, Viktor asks, "Do you want to take this elsewhere?" Salinger nods eagerly, and they head over to the bathrooms, which Viktor has heard from his friends have massive stalls and are very good for these kind of things. He considers taking Salinger's hand in his own, but before he reaches out, he notices Salinger's hands are shoved in his high-waisted jean pockets, which is totally fine, really.

As soon as they're in the bathroom, Salinger kisses him, tongue entering his mouth. Viktor responds eagerly, allowing himself to be pressed against the bathroom wall. He slowly pushes his knee between Salinger's legs, rubbing his crotch, and Salinger moans into his mouth before pulling back to kiss down Viktor's neck. "I can't believe this," he says, mouthing where Viktor's neck meets his shoulder. "I can't believe I'm hooking up with Viktor Nikiforov, the skating legend."

Viktor's world stops momentarily, as he processes those words. Viktor Nikiforov, skating legend. Is that really what he is? God, how his younger self had dreamed of hearing someone, no, countless people calling him that. легенда in his native tongue. He'd used to study the famous figure skaters that came before him and left their mark on the world and declare vehemently that he'd be up there with them before long, and he'd imagine how skaters for generations to come would know his name and honor his life. And he'd done it. He'd already set the record for his four consecutive GPF and WC wins, respectively, and was on track to break his own record again. 

So why was he so terrified?

Mind racing, he wondered what would happen if he died after this next Grand Prix. The skating fans would be devastated obviously and weep over his beauty lost. Journalists in print and online would report on his achievements and speculate what he could have gone on to do had he not been taken so tragically early, and- oh god, who would write his obituary?

His parents were long gone. He'd spent years and years with Yakov, but he'd competed for his attention alongside dozens of other skaters, and the man had never been too keen on knowing more about Viktor than he had to know. Yuri despised him. Christophe and other skaters like Jean-Jacques might be considered his friends, but they didn't know much more about him than the general public did. Makkachin would probably be the best option, and he literally couldn't do it because he was a dog. He'd die, and the dog he didn't get to spend enough time with would be the one who knew him best.

Did being a legend even matter when there was no one who would remember who he was beyond the medals?

Shaking, Viktor comes to, as Salinger begins to unbutton his shirt. "Stop," he says weakly, and Salinger immediately removes his hands and takes a step back, looking concerned.

"You okay?" he asks, eyes running up and down Viktor's convulsing form. "Is there something I can do for you, like, someone I can call or go find?"

Viktor shakes his head, unable to speak, humiliated and petrified, and bolts. He hears Salinger call after him, but he only picks up speed, pushing past people in an effort to get outside. He really should have stopped once he got outside in the fresh air, but he continues to run.

The Chicago winter is not as terrible as that of Russia, but it was far from kind, and running in the snow reminds him of a dark night years ago spent sprinting down the street desperate to get away.

He makes himself stop as soon as he realized where his thoughts were travelling to, and bent over to attempt to control his breathing and slow down his rapidly beating heart. His hands shook so hard that they wobbled his knees as he held them.

Кзади от десяти, и все это будет прекрасно. Десять, девять, восемь, семь, шесть, пять, четыре, три, два и один.

_Count to ten, and this will all be over. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._

By the time he had finished counting, his body is limp and his breathing normal. He slowly looks up and is startled by what he sees.

A giant statue that is totally reflective towers in front of him. He vaguely remembers someone mentioning this tourist destination before. The Chicago Seed, he thinks it's called. He can see himself in about the center of its larger side, slightly distorted in shape and proportions, face blurred. Other tourists stand around him in huddled groups, gazing admiringly up at the Seed or snapping selfies with it.

He was the only one standing alone.

 

-

 

The problem with Viktor and ice skating is that once he started winning he never really stopped.

This obviously was the problem that most skaters could only dream of having, while he never took his wins for granted, (after all, they were the result of countless hours spent in ballet studios and in practice rinks, working and training until every muscle ached and his head spun), there were only so many times one could hear his name announced as the winner before the novelty started to wear off and standing through a medal ceremony and answering dozens of interview questions felt like going through the motions instead of exciting and rewarding. 

While his opponents seem to thrive in the competitive atmosphere and dedicate their lives to earning more medals, for a chance to stand at the highest podium, he finds he just doesn't have the same drive. Or at least, he didn't have it anymore.

When he was younger and still just a novice on the ice, he had something that certainly felt like a drive. He dreamed of attending Grand Prix Finals and World Championships and walking out with medals and a name to remember. Those were the days when he would go to practice hours early and stay until the rink closed, and he revelled in each new jump he learned and could never be entirely satisfied with a routine and sure, while his life wasn't perfect by any means, he escaped through his love of skating and found content in the fact that one day things would be different.

Yakov had promised that he could win all those competitions if he worked his ass off for it, so he did, and Yakov's promises came true.

Really, it should have all been perfect from there.

 

-

 

The five days after returning home from America before the GPF are something akin to hell.

Yakov had told him to relax and only run through his routines once or twice, and while Viktor normally didn't have a problem ignoring his coach, Yakov had forcibly kicked him out of the arena after the second day and told him not to skate again until he was in the competition rink. This probably would have been fine if his time off didn't make him realize how terribly alone he was.

He spends all day laying in bed or occasionally upgrading to laying on the couch, either rereading War and Peace for what was maybe the tenth time or scrolling through social media. Except social media is terrible because he mainly follows fellow skaters, who are posting about the final days of training before the competition with pictures in gyms and on the ice. And he also forgets that in the second book of War and Peace, good old Pierre has a major existential crisis after nearly losing his life in a drunken duel where he questions if he's ever done anything of importance in his life and and laments the days when he could call himself great, possibly even good. And while Viktor can't exactly relate to feeling worthless because all your friends went off to fight in the war even though you know that you are Napoleon's anti-anti Christ because numerology told you so, he doesn't feel inclined to read anymore after that. Funny how he knows twenty-seven isn't much of anything, but sometimes it still felt so old.

"At least my hair's already silver, so we don't know if I'm old enough to be gray yet, right, Makkachin?" he says, and his dog gives a soft woof of agreement from where he was curled up next to Viktor in bed, tail hitting the mattress. He scratches behind Makkachin's ear in gratitude. If nothing else, he can at least live knowing he has the world's greatest dog.

There's not much else he can say on the friendship front at this point. He hadn't quite understood at the time that abandoning the group he went to the club in Chicago went without so much as a text would freak them out as much as it had, and he feels terrible when he had realized on a flight back to St. Petersburg, even before he had just about every skater texting him he knew making him promise to never pull something like that again. Even Yuri sent him a text telling him to stop being such a fuck up, as if that wasn't something along the lines of what he told himself on a regular basis.

It was terrible feeling like a burden on everyone who knew you.

Viktor doesn't sleep at all the night before his flight out to the GPF, and he's already dropped Makkachin off to be boarded that afternoon, so he really is all alone, laying in his bed, having an existential crisis. (Damn nineteenth century Russian literature.) But at least his restlessness allows him to come up with three primary options for next year:

Option A: He could do exactly what's expected of him and go for one more year, continuing to do the same thing he feels like always been doing. He'll meet do well, of course, as his body probably isn't going to magically give out overnight, but no one will exactly be surprised by his work. He runs the risk of losing to an opponent who's newer and more exciting and having to watch his winning streaks be destroyed and getting permanently labelled as a burn out who should have quit while he was ahead. But one year will turn into five more years, and one more win will invite that much more expectation, and he's not sure if he can do that.

Option B: Exactly that. Quitting while he's ahead. The skating world would have a small meltdown, and Yakov might actually commit manslaughter when he finds out. He'll preserve his legacy and will be able to finally go on the vacation that he and Makkachin deserve together. He would hope to keep in contact with the professional skaters he likes and Yakov, of course, but realistically, he'd probably be lucky to get a happy birthday message on Facebook from any of them. His net worth would mean he'd really never have to get another job, so he'd probably just live out the rest of his life with Makkachin, maybe reappearing for a "Where Are They Now?" episode.

Option C: Something else?

Okay, so Option C is barely anything, but he wants to keep reminding himself that, at least in theory, there were more than two solutions to his problem. Option C probably means exploring another career path, but that's the thing about being a young prodigy: you become perfect at one thing and hopeless at anything else. Of course he could try exploring new passions and seeing what sticked, but he isn't sure he was exactly confident in his own ability to know what he likes and doesn't when he'd even become disillusioned by what was supposed to be the love of his life. And it isn't exactly like anyone would ever be able to think of him as anything besides an ice skater, no matter how much he could potentially succeed at something else.

He put everything else on hold since he was seven to skate. Maybe it was time to put skating to the side and experience what he's been missing, but maybe he's also put his life and love on hold for so long that it can no longer be undone.

Viktor's miraculously late to the airport despite being awake when his alarm went off and has to charm his way on the plane, to take his seat next to an extremely annoyed Yakov, who whacks him with a rolled up magazine newspaper. Seems like he hasn't dropped all of his ex-wife's habits after all.

He feels a twinge of something in his gut as the plane takes off, and he's reminded of leaving for his very first competition and the butterflies in his stomach that he felt, watching St. Petersburg disappear from under the clouds. He'd questioned at the time if seasoned, pro skaters still felt nervous before a big competition. Yes was the definite answer, but it wasn't like he thought it would be. Anxiety to him isn't butterflies of excitement anymore; it's an impending feeling of dread that forms in a feeling of disconnect from his body, like he's driving a car straight off a cliff and there's nothing he can but press down on the accelerator and get it over with. He knows the five other skaters he'll face are nervous because of how badly they want to win, but he's nervous because he knows how likely it is he'll win, and it's terrifying.

 

-

 

As soon as he turns four years old, he's old enough to attend the youngest children's skating class at a small rink thirty minutes away from his house. 

The Nikiforovs live in a lower-middle class neighborhood in St. Petersburg, but all Viktor cares about is how close they are to the Yubileyny Sports Palace, home of the Yubileyny Sports Club, a world renowned figure skating training center, and home of what Viktor thinks must be the most beautiful ice rink in the world. He's more than a little bias as it's the only ice rink he's ever seen in person, as his mother has taken him to a few figure skating shows and tournaments. She says he's not allowed to go to a hockey game as they're too violent. Viktor doesn't care, as all he cares about is the grace and power that the figure skaters radiate as they glide across the ice.

He begs to go to more tournaments, to see these amazing skaters prove their best in person, but money is tight. He knows his mother puts aside a little money when his father isn't looking to buy cheap tickets where they'd barely be able to see, and he's as grateful as a small child can possibly be.

He's practically vibrating with excitement as his mother walks him in the doors of the rink. They are welcomed by a tall woman with short hair and eyes that crinkle when she smiles, who introduces herself as Svetlana Solovyova, the instructor. His mother kisses him goodbye on the forehead, promising to watch from the bleachers with some other parents, and he follows Svetlana to be fitted for skates.

There are about a dozen other children in the class, all red faced and bouncing around, as Svetlana checks their skates to make sure they're tied appropriately and scolds those who try to avoid putting on their helmets. She introduces Viktor to the class as the newest member, and he's met with a couple friendly smiles and waves. She says they'll start by holding on to little carts that slide along the ice when pushed and skating several laps around the rink. As the children line up to go on the ice, she tells Viktor that he shouldn't let go and skate independently, as it's only his first day. He immediately decides that while Svetlana seems perfectly nice, he's definitely not going to listen to her.

He wobbles a little at first, not nearly as terribly as some of the other students, but trial and error quickly lets him figure out what works and what makes him feel about to fall over. While the rest of the children follow Svetlana's lead and obediently push their carts around in circles and holding their feet perfectly still, Viktor starts to experiment, letting go of the cart here and there, finding his stance on the ice. Svetlana raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't send him back. She then shows them the exact way she moves her feet to move so gracefully (though she has nothing on some of the top skaters Viktor's watched on the TV), pushing one foot back to the side and the other. They all attempt to copy her, and Viktor soon realizes that he's moving much faster than the other children and balancing significantly better. He tries skating backwards while keeping his upper body to the side like he's seen older skaters do, and while he gets a little dizzy, he manages.

One girl at the end of class begs Svetlana to show them one of her jumps, and after a chorus of other children join in the pleading, Svetlana relents. She sends them all to the edges of the rink and builds some momentum before leaping into the air, doing a complete spin, and landing with arms loosely outreached and leg behind her not entirely straight.

Viktor can't help himself; he pushes off the side and imitates exactly what she's doing, leaping into the air, revelling in the height, and landing with his arms and leg perfectly straight.

Svetlana quickly scolds him and warns the other children not to follow suit, but Viktor looks up at his mother and confirms what he already knows in his mother's brilliant smile, hand over her heart: he landed a jump, and he landed it well. 

It's only after Viktor's fifth class, after he's landed six more jumps and executed three spins, that he finishes returning his skates and sees an older man whom he's never seen before speaking with his mother in the lobby. He approaches hesitantly, grabbing his mother's hand, and looking up expectantly.

"Hello, Viktor," the man says, holding out a hand. Viktor takes it and is met with a surprisingly firm grip for a man shaking hands with a four year old. "My name is Yakov Feltsman. I'm a professional figure skating coach."

Viktor can feel his eyes widen, and the man almost looks amused, despite his generally tough exterior. "Your mother tells me you've expressed an interest in exploring a career in skating."

That's an massive understatement, as almost every conversation he has with his mother ends in his declaration of love for skating and a monologue about how he'll become the greatest skater the world has ever seen, but he appreciates his mother's discretion. "Yes," he replies. "I want to complete in individual events."

Yakov seems mildly impressed at his advanced language skills. "I have Svetlana inform me of children who show a penchant for skating at an early age. Most of the ones she recommends are at least seven, and I am not impressed by them." He sighs, before admitting grudgingly, "You, however... you show promise."

It's all Viktor can do not to shriek and dance for joy.

"I'd like to make you an offer," Yakov says. "You're far too young to start training intensely now. Attend this class, and start ballet classes at the studio down the street. Keep yourself in shape. And for god's sake, no more attempting jumps. You'll only end up injured if you keep that up before your body is developed enough to handle it. Wait until you turn seven, and, if you are still interested, I will begin to train you for junior competitions. How does that sound?"

It sounded like the most glorious thing Viktor had ever heard, and he nearly said yes before Yakov had finished speaking, but he instead looked up to assess his mother. She looked heartbroken, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip furrowed. "I would love for him to say yes, but I know how expensive these things can be. We can barely afford this class as it is," she reveals, looking down at her son as if she's betrayed him. He squeezes her hand in reassurance, trying to hide the disappointment in his face, and she smiles weakly at him.

"Well that's simple," Yakov says. "I'll arrange for his fees to be waived. In special cases, the training center will provide funds for skaters who cannot afford to pay for their own expenses. You won't need to pay a thing."

His mother gasps in shock before tearfully thanking him and turning to her son. "The choice is yours to make, Vitya."

"It will not be easy," Yakov warns. "I'll inform your teachers to hold you to higher standards, and if at any point they see you are not working as hard as possible, I'll rescind my offer. And I will be harder on you than anything in daily practices you've ever known once you turn seven."

As if there was anything Yakov could have said to make him say no.

"Yes!" he cries out and throws himself at Yakov hugging his leg tightly. His savior, his future coach, grumbles in discomfort before giving him an awkward pat on the head and shaking him off. He hands Viktor's mother a business card, before nodding at Viktor, saying, "I'll keep in touch with your progress," and walked off.

Viktor waits until he had seated himself in the car and all doors were closed before letting out the scream he'd been holding in. His mother laughed hysterically, looking back at him from the driver's seat with happy tears streaming down her face. She turned on the radio and turned up the first pop song on to full volume, and they both belted out the lyrics and danced with joy.

It's one of the greatest moments in his life.

 

-

 

If you had told Viktor that he'd fall in love when a man ridiculously wasted off champagne at a banquet who, after starting a dance off that would end on a pole, begged Viktor to be his coach while grinding against him so inappropriately that he really should have thought to cover Yuri's eyes, he would have probably assumed you had taken a massive amount of weird, designer drugs and would have offered to take you to a hospital.

And yet here he was.

Viktor, on principle, does not enjoy banquets. He's not sure any skater particularly likes them, except for perhaps JJ, who thrives in any environment where he can talk about himself. Yet after over a decade of attending them, Viktor has perfected the art of surviving these banquets. He knows how to fake elegancy, knows approximately how long he has to allow every conversation to go on so that all the donors' stay pleased and Yakov doesn't rip his head off. He knows how to fake his way through a conversation with a person who he's not sure if he's met before and get them to slip out their name because honestly he can barely remember the names of everyone's coaches so he's not sure why he's expected to remember the name of some donor's niece twice removed or something. 

The banquet after his fifth GPF win starts off relatively the same as all the others. Yuri won't leave his side, continuously whining about how bored he is and loudly announcing how little he thinks of JJ, but he also keeps shooting Viktor suspicious glares every other minute. Odd, because Viktor thought he was doing a fairly impressive job hiding his instinct to lay on the floor and have a debilitating existential crisis over his future, but he guesses Yuri knows him a little too well.

But who could have guessed that Yuuri Katsuki would change everything?

He notices when Yuuri walks in of course, trying to catch a glimpse at him when his back is turned. The other skater is so obviously dejected, and Viktor feels for him, a removed kind of sympathy for this boy who seems to have a great deal of talent when he isn't psyching himself out. Viktor doesn't exactly know how to basically vomit your self consciousness in front of an entire audience, but he gets fear.

He's never really tried to approach Yuuri because every time they end up in the same vicinity, it always results in Yuuri looking like a cornered animal and attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. And that, well, he can't lie, that hurts a little. He likes being on good terms with his competition, and okay, he thinks Yuuri's kind of beautiful when he's not hyperventilating and terrified. But he can respect when someone doesn't like him; after all, he still greets his reflection in the mirror every morning.

So naturally, he doesn't bother trying to talk to Yuuri when he walks in the banquet, head down dejectedly and clearly ignoring any words of support coming from his coach. Yuri must follow his gaze because he suddenly pauses his rant about how stupid it is that he can't drink at this event to comment snarkily, "What are you staring at him for? He's worthless."

"No one is worthless," Viktor responds automatically, still distracted by the absolute misery in Yuuri's face.

"Did you even see his scores today? Man, I can't wait until next year when I'll get kick the asses of guys like him," Yuri mocks, in a clear demand for attention. Viktor has long learned of the nonsensical amount of jealousy that lives within Yuri Plisetsky and knows that instead of trying to start a useless fight with a stubborn fifteen year old, it's better to let Yuri tire himself out. He turns back to his conversation with Yuri and leaves thoughts of the other Yuuri behind.

Otabek's the first one to point out that something is up with Yuuri, and they all watch as he pours himself glass after glass of champagne, chugging each one and barely pausing before refilling. 

"Do you think he knows that champagne has alcohol?" JJ asks, and his girlfriend giggles at the comment. No one else laughs, and Viktor can see Yuri nearly spontaneously combust from sheer annoyance.

"Is anyone else feeling strange watching this? It's kind of... sad?" Chris asks, and Viktor agrees. His stomach is churning just by watching Yuuri, and he actually strikes up a conversation with an old woman nearby just to avoid looking at him.

But it's pretty hard not to look at Yuuri when he suddenly appears right in Viktor's face, wielding an entire bottle of champagne, and says, "Oh my god... Viktor. You're so... sexy? But I can't think about that right now... cause right now... it's dance off time," before breaking out into a full, wild dance that Viktor would think was choreographed if Yuuri didn't sound like he was walking off being hit by a truck. And Viktor might be in shock really because these banquets are the most boring events on the entire earth except they suddenly just became maybe the most interesting thing that had ever happened. And Yuuri's kind of... incredible? Viktor actually has trouble looking away because he's so damn flexible and his movements are all succinct and fluid like he's moving through water, and god, he looks so damn happy. It's all he can do to pull out his phone to document every bit of this and just live in the weird, crazy joy radiating off Yuuri as he dances around.

He only gets to take about twenty pictures before Yuri and Yuuri are yelling at each other (oh god Yuuri isn't holding the champagne anymore; where did he throw the champagne?).

"Stop making a fool of yourself." Yuri scoffs, looking ready to murder the man who shares his name.

"Why?!" Yuuri cries out, before letting out a hiccup that Viktor definitely does not find adorable. "Are you just... jealous of my sick moves?" 

Yuri snorts, but his blush gives away his bluff. "Oh my god, as if."

"Then prove it!" Yuuri yells, pointing a finger dramatically and pushing it slightly into Yuri's chest. "I challenge you... to a dance off... right here, right now." He reaches out towards Yuri again only to flick him gently on the forehead, and Yuri shrieks deafeningly, red as a beet, and shoves Yuuri away, causing him to stumble and fall, quite literally, into Viktor's arms.

Once Yuuri notices that he's been caught by Viktor, he positively beams, wraps his arms around Viktor's entre body, effectively trapping him, and begins to grind directly on Viktor's crotch.

Viktor wonders how this is even real life, mentally wishing away any physical reaction in his body. He exactly can't move, and he isn't exactly sure he wants to, so he stays still and just looks down at this man who he's now realizing might actually be a repressed sex fanatic. The rest of the banquet hall watches on in shocked silence over the music.

"Viktor..." Yuuri moans, still thrusting his hips so unfairly. "After this season... my family runs a hot spring, so please come." Then he looks up suddenly, his brows furrowed. "If I win this dance-off..." he begin, before suddenly leaning up, his hips pausing their rhythm, eyes widening. Viktor faintly thinks that looking into Yuuri's eyes are like looking into the sun with how much they sparkle, with, well, love. He looks like a completely changed man, all innocent devotion and purity, entirely different from the person who was just nearly attempting to have sex with Viktor through their clothes. How is it even possible for someone to have such mastery over both sin and virtue, both sexual love and pure love?

And then Yuuri asks him to be his coach, and he thinks of how much Yakov means to him, how much respect and pride and love he holds for his coach. He knows just from looking in his eyes that that is absolutely what Yuuri feels for Viktor, and he'd never thought someone who would ever care to see who he is off the rink or beyond the bedroom, but Yuuri Katsuki seems to look in his soul in that moment and still ask to be taught by him.

There is a rather small, seemingly unimportant quote from War and Peace that has always stuck with Viktor, which is remarkable given his poor memory: "We sleep when we don't love." He's never known before exactly why he feels such an affinity for that quote, though he's considered before that he's disassociated from his own life, removed from it in a way an asleep man is removed from the world. He knows now.

Viktor stares at Yuuri Katsuki, and his breath is stolen from him as he wakes up.

He feels like he might cry a little as his chest glows with warmth. He's about to full-heartedly agree to this bet, when Yuri screams, "You can't just say shit like that when you're not even gonna win, you asshole! Viktor's already doing a routine for me!" And suddenly both Yu(u)ri's are dancing around each other in a circle, as Viktor mourns the loss of Yuuri's arms around him and eyes on him. He also has to take a moment to question Yuri's declaration before remembering vaguely something about promising to choreograph a routine for Yuri after he won the Grand Prix Junior Finals and figures he'll probably end up forgetting about it again.

The contrast between the two competitors is not even close. Yuuri dances seductively to himself while Yuri tries so desperately hard make it seem like he knows any more dance moves outside of ballet classes with a large scowl on his face. Yuuri seems to realize after a moment that Viktor is still standing frozen in shock where he's left him and runs back over to drag him onto the dance floor. "Come on, Viktor! Dance with me!" he cries, grabbing Viktor's hand and spinning him around with far too much grace. Before Viktor knows it they're in some kind of wild, beautiful tango, and Viktor doesn't even know how to tango, but he can barely think about his movements when Yuuri Katsuki is in his arms, grinning up at him.It's so ridiculously fun, and he can feel his face stretch from how hard he's grinning. And so what if he's not even dancing quite as impressive as he can just so he can watch Yuuri better? The man's insanely talented, moving gracefully despite being grossly intoxicated, and he's stunning to watch. Viktor really thinks he would be okay if he never looked away from Yuuri Katsuki again in his life. He can't think about anything; Yuuri has broken into his head and taken up all available space.

Viktor doesn't even bother trying to dress well, for once, not caring about his appearance. He copies Yuuri's wilder moves, going so far as to imitate a matador to Yuuri's bull, and Viktor keeps shortening the distance between them, feeling more and more intoxicated by Yuuri's presence. Yuuri suddenly grabs onto comes up from behind him and wraps his arms around him, taking some of Viktor's weight and allowing him to kick up a leg for show. Viktor can't imagine he would have ever allowed anyone else that was so wasted to nearly carry him, but Yuuri had already earned the entirety of his trust. When Yuuri flipped around to place one hand on his thigh and another on his cheek as Viktor was leaning back, time seemed to stop, and they both grinned stupidly into each other's eyes. They spin; they leap; they dip around the floor, and it's exhilarating and honestly the most fun Viktor can remember having in a long time. It's heartbreaking when Yuuri pulls away eventually to face off Yuri once again.  
Viktor starts to lose it a little bit when Yuuri begins to break dance and his shirt rides up enough that Viktor can see his abs because really it's so not okay. It goes on for a little while before Christophe loudly declares, "Katsuki wins."

"Hooray!" Yuuri cheers, throwing his hands up in the air. "I did it, Viktor! Or should I say... Coach Viktor!" He winks in Viktor's direction, and instead of fainting, Viktor beams and throws him a thumbs up.

"Excuse me?!" Yuri screeches. 

Chris looks unimpressed. "You're stone cold sober, and you're getting your ass kicked by the most wasted person I've ever seen in my life. You lose." Various people around the room voice their agreement. Yuri looks to Viktor for back up, but Viktor simply shrugs. Yuri looks incredibly betrayed and storms off. Viktor watches him go amusedly, and when he looks back, Yuuri's dancing on a pole.

What.

"I told you this would come in handy!" Chris crows, gleefully rubbing his hands together, having set up his portable pole. Viktor immediately mentally repents for every time he's told Chris that his portable pole is unreasonable and no, he shouldn't bring it out "just to see what happens." Though clearly, no one that is ever not Yuuri Katsuki should pole dance from now on because oh my god.

Yuuri moves around the pole like he was raised on it, arms muscles defined and flexed as he spins around. He loses his pants somehow in the process, showing off his toned thighs and round butt, and Viktor is so overwhelmed by the immense beauty that is Yuuri's body that he doesn't even know what to look at. He's a little disappointed when Chris demands his turn on the pole and chooses to instead block Yuuri from chugging the rest of the champagne bottle he'd thrown away earlier. Yuuri gives up after a temporary fight, and he seems to notice that Chris is already naked save his underwear and tie, so he politely begs for Viktor's help ripping off his own shirt. And Viktor helps because he is a kind person who simply wants to make sure Yuuri doesn't rip his shirt and he certainly has no ulterior motives and isn't just screaming vague nonsense in his head about how he'd really like to lick Yuuri's chest, but Yuuri's back on the pole before he can do anything.

Twenty minutes later, when Yuuri is absolutely about to pass out and can barely stand, Viktor is unanimously elected by everyone around him to help Yuuri get safely back to his room. He doesn't argue, collecting Yuuri's strewn about clothes and putting an arm around Yuuri to let him lean on Viktor. Yuuri slurs out his room number, and as they head up on the elevator, Yuuri attempts to make out with Viktor's neck. It doesn't work that well, but Viktor appreciates the intent. After a moment of patting through Yuuri's clothing for his keycard, he finally notices a bulge in Yuuri's left sock and bends over to retrieve the card.

"Oh m'god... are you... getting... on y'knees? For... me? Whoa," Yuuri slurs, staring down at him in drunken shock. 

Viktor grins unabashedly up at him, amazed that before this night he'd never seen the incredible sexuality of Yuuri Katsuki. "Not right now, but I'm sure that could be arranged in the future." 

He ignores Yuuri's cute whisper of, "Wha...?" and practically carries him into the room. He sits Yuuri gently down on the bed, but Yuuri seems to lose balance and falls back, grabbing Viktor in the process. Viktor lands right on top of him, hands spread out on either side of Yuuri's head to keep from crashing into his face, their noses barely touching. 

"Heyyy," Yuuri whispers mischievously, and Viktor immediately knows that Yuuri purposely pulled him down because he's a sexual deviant, and Viktor's probably never going to get over that.  
"You've surprised me more in a single night than I've ever been in the rest of my life," Viktor admits in a moment of raw, intentional vulnerability that he hasn't felt in years.

Yuuri blinks up at him. "You wanna... stay?" He wiggles his hips a little, as if his implication wasn't nearly enough. His offer is far beyond tempting, but Viktor knows what consent is, and this isn't it.

"Come find me tomorrow when you're sober," he says and presses a gentle, fleeting kiss to Yuuri's forehead. Yuuri whimpers in a way that is so unfair, and Viktor slowly lifts himself up. He turns around to say goodnight before he opens the door, but Yuuri's already snoring. He smile, drinking in the sight of him, before leaving the room, pressing his back against the door to make it close softly.

Leaving Yuuri Katsuki's presence is unbearable now that he's seen who Yuuri can be, who he is. He barely sleeps the rest of the night and brings his suitcase to the lobby two hours earlier than he was supposed to meet the rest of the Russian team to head to the airport. He watches every single person go through that lobby, gets congratulated by various people both on his win and the vents of last night, but he never sees Yuuri. He panics but attempts to calm himself, remembering that he can also contact Yuuri on social media.

When Yuuri approaches him at the airport, he wants to kiss him on the spot, but he restrains himself with a polite smile, thinking he can take their photo together, commemorating the morning after their perfect night, and then put his number in Yuuri's phone. 

Except Yuuri leaves without a word to him, looking extremely uncomfortable and upset, and he can't go after him because clearly Yuuri doesn't want to be around him, so instead Viktor stands there, watching him go and wanting to die.

"Wow," Yuri says. "That was the worst rejection I've ever seen," and Viktor agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> this version of Viktor may be slight OOC, but this is the version of him I see and the backstory I imagine for him. we'll see far more of his backstory coming up. the second chapter is mostly written and will be out soon. in the meantime, feel free to follow me on tumblr at www.rathskellerr.tumblr.com for updates. thank you for reading my first work! please let me know any thoughts you have about it. it would mean so much. :)
> 
> (points if you know where the title and the War and Peace references stem from)
> 
> (also the "Chicago Seed" Viktor sees in the second part is in fact the Chicago Bean. he simply has misremembered its name, though to his credit, it does look rather seed-like.)


End file.
